


Burn Me Inside Out

by goalielove43



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Budding Love, Carolina Hurricanes, Coming Out, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fear of Coming Out, Honesty, M/M, Masturbation, NHL RPF, Oral Sex, Pining, in the closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goalielove43/pseuds/goalielove43
Summary: It isn't supposed to mean anything. He tells himself that over and over, again and again while this secret burning thing starts to blossom in his heart. It doesn't mean anything at all that Jordan likes to crowd into his space or that he likes to ask how Andrei's evening was. It can't mean what his heart seems to think it does, at any rate. Jordan's hand on his waist, smoothing across his lower back just means the guy's affectionate, maybe a little touchy-feely. It definitely doesn't mean Andrei's body has permission to burn from the inside out. But it does.
Relationships: Jordan Martinook/ Andrei Svechnikov
Comments: 17
Kudos: 198





	Burn Me Inside Out

**Author's Note:**

> Zero percent of me could pass this up... just sayin' https://twitter.com/NHLGIFs/status/1202748760889188352?s=20

It isn't supposed to mean anything. He tells himself that over and over, again and again while this secret burning thing starts to blossom in his heart. It doesn't mean anything at all that Jordan likes to crowd into his space or that he likes to ask how Andrei's evening was. It can't mean what his heart seems to think it does, at any rate. Jordan's hand on his waist, smoothing across his lower back just means the guy's affectionate, maybe a little touchy-feely. It definitely doesn't mean Andrei's body has permission to burn from the inside out. But it does.

He goes home at night and tells himself he needs to forget about it and when he finds himself staring up at his ceiling, sleep so far away it's impossible to grasp, he ignores all his own rules and thinks about it. His mind lingers on how warm Jordan's fingers were against his skin, how he slipped them up under the hem of his t-shirt just the slightest - an accident, he's sure - and how his skin burns now in all the places Jordan's ever touched him. Handprints branded into his biceps, the imprint of a palm across the back of his neck, twin marks along the sides of his face, his hands and forearms and that damnable strip of skin where t-shirt has met pants. He thinks of the few times he's had Jordan's hand on his knee on the bench, debates how it's felt every single time. If he has to clench his hands in his comforter a little harder and breathe through his nose, it's just a byproduct of too long alone and not... whatever this is.

He tells himself he'll avoid the touches, that he'll behave himself and pull away before he gets himself in trouble. He knows where they live and he knows how instantly this ship he's on would capsize if they knew all of his truths. He wonders if it would only be the fans or if it'd be the team, too. He squeezes his eyes shut and begs for sleep and it refuses him just like it always does when he needs it most.

It's a week before he has to deal with Jordan again and while he'd normally be enthused, he only feels something rotten and ugly in his gut today. He feels sick because of his own thoughts and sick because of the things he did two nights ago that if anyone ever found out, they'd string him up for. It aches deep in his chest, low in his gut, in the space between his brain and his skull and he feels like throwing up instead of saying hello.

Jordan's just who he always is. He's bright and he's sunshine and it's so hard to look at today when Andrei feels like he's falling apart. He keeps to himself, tries to project how he feels outwardly, hoping the guys will think he's sick and avoid him. Just... not so sick he can't play, that's the key and he knows it. He must project more than he intends to because it's not any of the guys who corner him, it's their medical staff, fussing over him without him getting much of a word in edgewise. His temperature is fine, his blood pressure is, too. He lies and tells them his stomach doesn't hurt, he does his best to not let his hands shake where they can see them. He's hurting, it's just not something they can fix. He's made a mistake and it puts bile in his throat and terror in his veins and there's no cure for that. What he's done isn't okay in Russia and it isn't okay here in North Carolina, either. 

He's approved for the game despite all his fears otherwise and he goes with what equates to a heavy heart, but he goes nonetheless. He plays and at first it's weak and pathetic - something no one needs to tell him, he sees it for himself - and then it morphs into a way to get all his frustrations out and when he lands himself in the penalty box for the second time, he knows the rage boiling inside him needs to leave. That or he does.

Jordan leaves him alone for the whole game, the whole way through change-out, but it doesn't really surprise Andrei when he makes his way to his car that Jordan is leaning against the trunk, looking far more relaxed than he should. They've been here before, too. Jordan sensing a discussion that shouldn't be held in front of the world and Andrei driving them around, spilling himself in short, stunted bursts over the next couple hours. It's like therapy for emotionally shutdown Russians or something. But today it's all about Jordan and he's not sure he can do this.

He stops in front of Jordan and slides his bag further up his shoulder, clutches it tight and tries to keep breathing. 

"Keys." Jordan holds out his hand and Andrei only hesitates a second before handing his keys over and going to the passenger side of his own car. They get in and Andrei scrunches down in his seat as much as he can and concentrates on not giving in to the confusing swirl of two very different kinds of heat in his gut. One says throw up, the other says fuck and neither is going to get the attention it wants tonight if he has anything to say about it.

He breathes through his nose and closes his eyes as they pull out of the parking spot and leave the garage behind. They don't talk and Andrei knows this path, the familiar turns, the world stretching out in front of four tires and fiberglass and metal. It takes what seems like forever before Jordan's soft voice murmurs, "It all stays right here, just like it always does. So spill."

Andrei swallows and it feels like it'll choke him until he does it again and again, before it morphs into a solid lump in his throat and he tries not to gag on it. It takes too much to get past it, but somehow he does. He always does with Jordan, so it really shouldn't come as a surprise when he opens his mouth and some parallel version of his truth comes pouring out.

"There's feelings I shouldn't have, but I have them. Things I think about that I shouldn't. Could get me in trouble and this," he moves a hand down to his stomach, holds it cupped there like he's trying to contain his insides from coming out, "it hurts so much."

"We all think things we shouldn't sometimes. It's human." Jordan's voice is patient, kind, filled with everything Andrei tucks away into his heart and his mind and the scenes that paint the fantasy canvas of his darkened bedroom and it _hurts_. It's agony to see it right here, displayed so blatantly in front of him like this, and he has no idea what to do about it other than push forward. 

"I can't stop... I do things and can't stop myself from doing them again."

He watches Jordan's subtle reactions, sees his hands tighten just a fraction on the steering wheel. He sees the front that's trying to come out on his face, senses the fear that tinges the air and he feels ashamed. He curls in tighter on himself and tells himself Jordan wouldn't hate him if he knew. Jordan would accept him how he's always been, even if no one else would. Jordan's not the kind of guy who'd discount everything else over someone's sexuality. He hopes he's right.

Jordan's voice is quiet, serious, when he speaks again. "Can you tell me what those things are?"

It feels like he's been robbed of all his air, like he's dying and it's out of nowhere. It's a million times worse than hitting the ice when he least expects it, a thousand times worse than how he feels when he's coming down off of watching the videos he shouldn't watch or thinking the thoughts he shouldn't think. His hands shake and his vision swims and he doesn't think he can do this. 

"I'm not here to judge you. I want to help."

Those words mean more to him than Andrei can ever express, but he doesn't think Jordan understands the truth of it at all. He can't take away all the things Andrei's wanted since he was just a kid. He can't make the world see that Andrei's just Andrei and that who he wants to fuck doesn't matter. He wishes like hell Jordan could, but he knows the horrible truth of it already, always has. He's chosen to do something with his life that doesn't allow him to be _him_ any more so than his country did.

He lays his head back against the seat and stares out the window at the city passing them by. He wants to say it, at least on some level. It doesn't matter that Jordan can't fix everything. It matters that he know if Jordan will run away from him because of his truth. He's not running yet and Andrei wonders what Jordan thinks he's going to say. He itches to find out and so he whispers, "What do you think those things are for me?"

"It'd be guesses and I refuse to say anything that could insult you when I'd find it all hard to believe anyway."

Andrei's quiet for a while, finally closes his eyes again and murmurs, "I won't take it as an insult, just say what you fear it would be."

"Drugs. Alcohol. Violence."

There's a certain relief to that, to knowing those three words weren't followed up by a statement about Andrei being gay. He breathes through the peace of it and opens his eyes and stares out at the night. "None of those."

His gaze flicks to Jordan's reflection and he watches as he eases up, the tension draining out of him, and he waits on what he knows comes next. 

"Then whatever it is isn't as big as you think it is." It's a reasonable statement, one that curls in Andrei's gut and he lets it sink in and something about it invites him to share himself. If it's not as big as he thinks, then maybe Jordan would understand, maybe he wouldn't hate him for it, wouldn't pull away and never touch him again. 

He tells himself he has to tell someone, has to get out of his own head and that this has always been their safe spot. They drive and things are said and they're not brought up outside of here. It's an unspoken rule, but as far as he knows, Jordan's never violated his trust before. He shifts in his seat, turns to face Jordan and tries it in Russian first, a whisper of, "голубой." He watches Jordan's face, sees the confusion there as he mouths the word _blue_ to himself, as if trying to understand and then, "Blue, like... sad?"

It makes Andrei want to laugh and that in and of itself is a relief. There's an English connotation to the word blue that yields nothing in Russian and he rolls his head on the seat to stare up at the liner, letting himself bask in this moment, this calm before what could be a horrible storm. It sobers him to remember it could be something awful and he looks back at Jordan and murmurs, "Gay... it means gay."

There's a second where Jordan looks confused, utterly perplexed, and while it's not the reaction Andrei secretly hoped for, it's not anger, so he'll take it. He breathes through this, too, and then Jordan's speaking. "How the hell does blue mean gay? If you say something's blue in English, it's like... depressed, you know? That's sort of the opposite."

"Is not opposite for Russians," Jordan muses, something tight in his stomach refusing to unfurl. "It was not the intent of the word, but it works with English version, too." He's losing his careful grasp on English and he has to press his hands to his thighs to keep them from shaking. 

"Yeah... I've seen some of the things in the news, it's not pretty." Jordan sounds so level, but there's a sadness under it, too, and Andrei has to wonder at that. "But that doesn't answer what it is that has you all wound up... unless you've only just figured it out?"

Andrei shakes his head a little, turns back to look up at the liner, not wanting to see the shadows he knows will cross Jordan's face at some point in this discussion. "Known since... little boy." He swallows, tries to get his grasp on English back. It's hard, being upset and scared and concentrating on getting his second language out of his mouth correctly, particularly one as hard as English. "Thoughts and... actions." He can't stand to say what he's done, not directly to Jordan. He squeezes his eyes shut and he sees the videos, he imagines the fantasies, and his gut tightens and he feels both heady and sick, both excited and horrified. It's always harder when the fantasies become someone real.

From his peripheral vision he sees Jordan's hand come across the console and he does his best not to flinch away from it, tells himself a hundred times in the span of a few seconds that he's not going to be hurt by _Jordan_ of all people. He begs the universe not to let this man fall in his eyes. Jordan's palm comes to rest on his thigh, down close to his knee, and the pressure is warm and soothing and it presses away some of his anxiety, draining it out of him like some unknown valve has been tapped.

"You're allowed to be who you are. I know Russia wouldn't say that, but you're not there anymore."

Andrei thinks about it, lets that thought roll around in his mind and he holds onto it as tight as he can. "North Carolina isn't much better." There's a certain relief to his words coming out steadier now, less anxiety in his brain yielding the correct sentences in English. 

"I'd say it's eons better in comparison to the shit I've read. I won't say it's great, because it's not, but it's not _that_ either."

Andrei turned his head again, studied Jordan and decided to be as honest as he could be. "I feel things I can't stop... it makes me afraid they'd hate me."

There's a minute where Jordan says nothing, though he doesn't flinch away, doesn't look horrified. They park in the empty parking lot at Lake Johnson and it's reflex alone that pulls Andrei out of the car. They've been here and done this before. It's easy to get out and follow Jordan down to the river, to stand at his side like he has so many times before and stare out into the distance and say what he has to say. Only this time he's not the one to speak.

"You're not alone." They're simple words, easy in the grand scheme of things and could mean so many things, but he understands instantly what they mean in this context. He turns and Jordan's giving him a look he's seen a hundred times before and every single bit of the ice in his veins turns to fire and he can't help it when he whispers, "Jordan?"

There's a tiny smile on Jordan's lips and Andrei cherishes it. He knows how he looks, eyes all wide and his lips parted and he knows he looks every inch as innocent as he really is and when Jordan's hand slides along his waist, when his fingers push up under the hem of his shirt and touch that tiny strip of skin, he lets himself sigh at the pleasure of it. He sees now how Jordan's looking at him and he takes half a step closer, wonder in his heart and wonder in his mind. He wants this to be a thing, wants to be _right_.

It should shock him more than it does when Jordan draws him in and kisses him like he'll die if he doesn't delve in this deep. He clutches at Jordan's jacket, holds on so tight he fears for the fabric, and only barely manages not to whine when Jordan's tongue slicks into his mouth. He kisses him back like he has to tell him everything through this kiss alone, he shows him how he's longed, how he wants in a way that's hot and boiling and desperate and how it started slow and simmering and dreamy. He shares his fantasy as much as his care and he gets as much as he gives.

It's Jordan that ends the kiss, that draws back just the slightest and breathes out, "Wanted to do that for a while now," and it sets Andrei free. He leans into Jordan, sighs as his arms tighten around him and he rests against him, all the fight and running drained out of him in one tightly packed instant. He breathes Jordan's air and he relishes it.

This is everything he's needed and he marvels at having it after all this time.

They spend the next week texting and showing up at one another's places and it's new and beautiful and while they don't name it anything in particular, it's clear what it is. They eat dinner together and they play games, a little too close on the couch to just be friends. They touch so much and when Andrei's alone at night and his brain gets ahold of him and goes to all the places it always has, he feels like it's okay instead of dirty. 

The next game shows him that Jordan's unafraid of the world seeing them touch and Andrei's so much more at ease with that than he'd ever predicted. When Jordan backs him up against the wall to hype him up and yell affectionate things at him, he can only grin at him and fight the blush from his cheeks. He can't help the way his hips lift from the wall, arching toward Jordan and when he realizes he's doing it, he doesn't make himself stop and he doesn't panic. Instead it's a desperate rush, something glorious and heady and it makes him want to play harder, to show Jordan how good he is so he can get more of this. More of this hype and more of his touch and just... _more_. 

The other guys watch them, egg them on, and well... that only adds to it. It makes Andrei's blood rush fast in his veins, makes him tremble with excitement. He wants them to know, to see that he and Jordan are something special and real and _hot_. Jordan gets right up in his face and for one breathless moment, Andrei thinks he's about to kiss him right in front of the team and the PR guy whose filming this whole incident. He doesn't, but it's a near thing, their helmets keeping them apart just enough, Jordan's words sliding over him like his kisses would anyway. Andrei doesn't think he's smiled this much in his entire life and he has a secret burning inside him: he wants the world to see his reaction for what it is; to know and guess and _see_.

That moment simmers with him the whole game and he plays his heart out, does it for him, for Jordan, for _them_ and when he comes out and Jordan's already leaning against his car, he knows this time is different. He gives up the keys if only because he wants to see which house they choose. It's unsurprising when it's Jordan's own and it's even less surprising when he's backed up against the living room wall and feeling like he's drowning the most pleasant of ways, Jordan crushing him to the wall, his tongue invading his mouth.

Their hands are everywhere and Andrei's on fire. It's beautiful and everything he's ever wanted and he arches into it the same way he did when Jordan got in his face earlier in the night and this time Jordan's hands are on his ass, squeezing hard and yanking him against him and _shit_ , Jordan's hard and hot and _ready_. Andrei's ready, too. He's been ready all night. He wants it like he's never wanted anything before and it doesn't even matter to him anymore how it happens as long as it does. 

He accepts it when Jordan moves them toward the bedroom, a stumbling, ungraceful affair filled with giggles and grunts and at one point straight up laughter when he has to prevent Jordan from falling in the floor. They make it to the bed in one blessed piece and what Andrei doesn't expect is how easy it is to fall on his back and let Jordan have his way. He gasps when Jordan's hands work his pants open and the first thing that touches him is his warm, hot mouth, sliding down over his cock in such an easy fashion it's a shock. He wants to tell Jordan it's going to be like a cheap firework, lit up and beautiful, but over pitifully fast, but he doesn't have room for that in the air between them. Jordan works over his dick like he's starving for it and Andrei just holds on for the ride, his mind fully blown and his hands shaking, hips arched, and when he cums far too soon, Jordan only looks satisfied with himself for it.

He doesn't waste time apologizing for it; there's little point with how flushed and beautiful Jordan looks. His lips red from sucking dick and color high in his cheeks that can only be arousal, his dick tenting his slacks obscenely. Andrei lives a fantasy in that moment and gets their positions reversed, gets his mouth around Jordan's dick and it's everything he's always hoped for. He feels at home between Jordan's thighs and bobs his head like he was built to do this. He's turned on again after only a few minutes and doesn't bother to stop himself from jacking off while he sucks. 

Jordan moans his name, his hips giving slow roll after slow roll, his dick sliding smoothly between Andrei's lips and it feels like heaven itself and Andrei lets him do it until he can feel him tensing under him, hear his breath starting to catch. He looks up at watches the wild look in Jordan's eyes as he whispers, "I'm- _oh _!" and spills across Andrei's tongue. He swallows it down, drinks every drop he's given.__

__When he's sure Jordan's done, he moves to straddle him, settles across his thighs and leans over him to kiss him while he jerks off, his movements frantic, needy. He's going to explode and he's certain of it. His thighs tighten and he's so close he can feel it about to burst out of him. The coil in his gut is so tight it's incredible and when Jordan's hand cups his balls and _squeezes_ , he's gone, bucking against Jordan's touch, spurting all over his abdomen as he frantically jerks his cock. It's beautiful and wonderful and _everything_. _ _

__He shudders his way through it, feeling like it's more drawn out than any orgasm he's ever had, and when he's done, he feels drained, like all his fight is gone and there's just this soft shell of himself left behind. He lays down beside Jordan and it's also not a surprise when he's wrapped up in warm arms and soft kisses and twined legs._ _

__He closes his eyes and when he falls asleep, it's where he's wanted to be for longer than he's ever been willing to admit. But now... now he'll admit it. He's always wanted to be right here._ _


End file.
